


Suck

by eternal_teapot



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Other, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 08:24:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2461442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_teapot/pseuds/eternal_teapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock gets turned on over the most unsexy things ever, and John indulges him. This may squick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suck

**Author's Note:**

> I'm cleaning and backing up some old fills from the BBC kink meme. The original prompt for this [is here](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/17487.html?thread=102673231#t102673231). I'm open to suggestions for tagging this.

"The last time. I mean it, Sherlock. That is the _last_ time I go traipsing by moonlight through a bunch of ditches with you after a deranged serial killer."

Sherlock peeled off his jacket with a sickening sucking sound. It _glopped_ unceremoniously onto the carpet, and he began work on his cuff buttons with numb fingers. "Really, John. It hardly seems likely to be the sort of thing we'd do twice."

John glowered at him. His jumper hit the tile of the bathroom, announcing from the far side of the door that the good doctor intended to get into the shower as quickly as humanly possible. A fainter _plop_ told Sherlock that John's vest had joined the jumper. He began work on his own belt, now naked from the waist up.

Sherlock eyed the muddy, Gordian knot of his shoe laces. He'd just finished taking a knife to them and toeing off his shoes and socks, when a surprisingly high-pitched scream issued from behind the half-open door.

He padded over the carpet tentatively. "Oh my god. Oh. My. God." drifted out of the bathroom. The stark fluorescent lighting threw waving shadows on the tile visible behind the door. "Sherlock, I am going to _kill you._ Last time...Oh god, I hate you."

Now more amused than alarmed, Sherlock nudged the door open. "John?"

"Ow! _Dammit_." There was a slight hitch and bang as the door caught on John's exposed toes, but almost immediately the wood yielded and Sherlock was greeted with the sight of his flatmate, dripping wet and covered in slime, still dressed in his socks and pants.

"What's the matter?"

"What's that matter? What's the-- _this,_ Sherlock! This is the matter!" John extended his left leg, right arm pinwheeling to fix on the counter top for balance. And there, barely discernible amid the layers of mud along his shin was---

"Oh. _Oh_." Sherlock closed the distance between them in one long stride. "Is that--"

Uneasy, John moved to set his leg back on the floor, but Sherlock forestalled the motion, his hands cradling John's calf, tugging it closer. "Hirudo medicinalis. _Gorgeous._ "

"What? No. _No._ Not gorgeous. Very much not gorgeous. I want them off."

"There are others? Where?" Sherlock's right hand skimmed up the outside of John's thigh, but his eyes were moving even faster. "Oh. I see. Young one, back of the left knee. Inside of the right thigh. Oh. _Excellent._ " Sherlock's finger return to John's shin, nudging gently along the looser flesh between the jaws and posterior sucker. It gave way slightly, allowing the finger to slide in the crevice between the leech and John's skin, warm and damp. He sank to his knees.

"Um. Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced up. "Yes, John?"

"You know I'm pretty tolerant of your experiments, but maybe you could wait until the leeches are _off_ me?"

Sherlock could feel the flush spreading over his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. Even with John's foot in the air between them, his budding erection was hardly invisible against the cold, clinging fabric of his trousers. Obvious. Even to John. " _Oh._ Really?"

Wordlessly, he nodded. This was...embarrassing.

He felt John's weight shift restlessly in his hands. "Is it...I mean, is it the blood or something?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped back up. "Of course not. I don't take any pleasure in seeing you hurt."

"Then what?"

"They're...just fascinatingly well-adapted." His finger returned to the back of the leech, running lightly along it, the ridges of its sensillae all but invisible beneath his callouses. "A large adult leech can ingest up to ten times its own weight in food in a single meal, John! They can go months between feedings. Can you imagine!"

"Think of all the work you could do." Sherlock flushed again. "Sorry, but I do need them off."

"Would it be all right if I--?"

He didn't dare move. John stared down at him, painfully still except for the curl of his toes in his socks. Finally he nodded. "Fine. Why not?" Sherlock inhaled, instantly rolling to his feet. " _Thank you._ You should take off your pants and socks to make sure there aren't any more. They'll drop off on their own eventually, but better to be sure."

He dashed into the bedroom, cock heavy in his pants, and returned moments later, to find that John was still peeling off his second sock.

"Come _on_ , John. If I were a woman with bad taste, you'd have been naked ten minutes ago."

John leisurely picked up his other sock, and proceeded to roll them, muck and all, into a neat ball. He eyed the medical forceps in Sherlock's fist with dismay. "My kit's all over the floor, isn't it?"

Sherlock fidgeted. "Irrelevant. Take off your pants."

Sighing, John dropped them with a final, pathetic _thwack_ to the floor. "Hurry up. It's cold in here."

Sherlock grabbed a glass from the counter, digging past the plastic wrapper and setting it on the floor as he knelt back down. "This will be easier if you--" he tugged impatiently at John's hips, rotating him until his back was to the counter and then pressing down so that John eased some of his weight back. The forceps clattered onto the tile, and Sherlock flattened his palms against the skin of John's ankles. He sucked in a breath. Focused very closely on John's toes, one at a time, from left to right. Like reading a line of print in the neat trim of his nails, in the sandy hairs. The earthy, stale smell of mud and stagnant water had permeated the bathroom, but this close Sherlock could also smell sweat--hours worth of John running alongside him. He stroked his thumbs up over the talus on each ankle, pressing outward. John obediently widened his stance.

Finally, he skimmed his eyes, and then his hands back up to John's shins. And there on the left, just waiting for him. It was sagging, already visibly fatter than when Sherlock had first seen it, narrowed up at the anterior sucker and pulled down by gravity and the weight of its food into a widening bulb. Sherlock reached above it, thumb down, dragging the edge of his nail down John's skin over his bone until he reached the head. Scooping the forceps off the floor, he scraped right along the skin. The leech came reluctantly away at the top end, clinging desperately, _hungrily_ at the bottom. But Sherlock relentlessly peeled away the posterior sucker too, and flicked the leech away from the leg.

It landed on the tile, and he scooped it with the forceps in to the glass. Sherlock picked up the tumbler, holding it up to the overhead light, trying to see through the faux crystal striations and hotel logo. A sharp tug on his hair brought his attention back to John. "Oy. Admire later. There are still two more of these things."

_More._ "Of course."

He set the glass back down with a lingering look, turning immediately to John's right thigh. The leech was nestled sideways on the inside. John was gingerly holding his mostly flaccid penis off to the left as far as possible. Sherlock imagined having the leech that close to his dick, sucking the blood out of him as precum is leaking out of his cock. Imagined letting it take its fill. His fingers tightened on John's thighs, and he buried his face for a moment in the skin just above John's knee. His breath warmed the spot, and for a moment all Sherlock wanted to do was lick his way upward. Wanted to leave matching bite marks up John's skin until he reached the cold skin of the leech.

" _Fuck._ Sherlock." John's free hand is in his hair again. Pulling him, whining, back to sit on his heels. "Just get rid of it, ok? _Fuck,_ just...get it off."

Sherlock gasped out a laugh. "Did you know leeches are hermaphroditic?" And John was _insane._ He was the maddest flatmate Sherlock could ever have hoped to acquire. _Thank god._ But Sherlock was already reaching up. He pressed John's legs open wider, scraped from back to front. Already the leech was hanging down, parallel to John's cock. Sherlock shuffled to his right, out of the way and then removed the second sucker, flicking the leech out onto the floor. Soon it was with its brethren in the glass, and they folded over one another, barely fitting and undulating in search of a way out. They were aquatic leeches, however, and moved better in water than on solid surfaces, so Sherlock set them aside and turned his attention to the last one.

"Turn around." He hauled ineffectually at John's hip. "God, turn around."

John inhaled sharply. "Things we will never speak of..." he muttered, pivoting to face the counter and placing his palms down on it.

Sherlock eased his the tops of his fingers upward along the insides of John's legs. The first two wounds were bleeding freely still, and John's legs were slick with blood. "Are there any others?" He carefully bypassed John's left knee and continued up.

"What? No. Nothing in my...you know, my bits. Just take care of the one on my knee."

"They secrete an analgesic, you know. You might have missed a small one. You wouldn't feel it." Sherlock eased his thumbs into the cleft of John's arse, pulling it open, hoping, _hoping--_

"Christ _._ " John abruptly folded in half over the sink.

"Nothing. There's nothing here." 

"You don't have to sound so bloody disappointed."

Sherlock moaned. "You don't _understand_ , John." He scrabbled at the flies of his trousers. Sodding mud.

Now John was laughing. His head thunked against the faucet. "Ow. Sherlock, _how many_ times have you cockblocked me by now? I think I understand wanting to get off." He shoved his left foot backward until it connect with Sherlock's knee. The leech was right in front of him. "Just...do it."

The zipper came free at last, and Sherlock finally got a hand on his erection, pulling it out of his trousers. Compared to the still sopping wet fabric, it was achingly hot, and he stroked up, firm and fast. His balls were already heavy, and Sherlock lifted his hips just long enough to pull his trousers and pants down around his thighs before settling back down. The leech was perfect, vertical behind John's knee; if he would just bend it a little. He could come just looking at it. Sherlock tugged at the base of his cock and focused on the wall for a moment. _Think of something unsexy. Think of something unsexy._ _Mycroft in a onesie._

Only marginally more under control, he took hold of John's calf again with hands now sticky with a mixture of blood and precum, leaving fingerprints pressed into the skin. "Sherlock?" John sounded agitated, but not angry.

Sherlock was never very good at avoiding temptation, and surely just this _once_. His lips touched skin, and then teeth and tongue. Sherlock sucked at the calf beneath him, pulling the flesh into his mouth and feeling John's hairs against his tongue. He imagined breaking the skin entirely, and it was easy, easy with the tang of John's blood everywhere already. "Oh god. Oh god," the murmur registered as background hum as Sherlock marked his way up. He dug his tongue in until nothing remained beneath but a layer of salt sweat, and then—

It was so cold compared to John, slick where John felt worn and weathered, smooth against the sinews of his knee. Sherlock eased his tongue around the edge of the leech, pushing into the distended flesh of the muscles wrapped around its crop. He trailed _oh so_ carefully around the outer edges of its suckers, where it met John's skin and refused to let go. And then. He tipped his head to the side and pulled on John's foot, _just_ bending his knee to ease the way. Moaning, unable to keep his hand from returning to his cock, Sherlock leaned in between John's legs and thrust his tongue out, digging it between the ribbed muscle of the leech and crease of John's knee. John's knee threatened to buckle, but Sherlock propped it up, chasing it with his mouth. He thrust in and out, wishing the leech would let go, _wanting_ the excuse of accident to have it in his mouth, sucking back at his tongue. He pulled gently down on his foreskin, slick and close. He opened his knees as far as he could, internally cursing the waist of his trousers and the unyielding tile.

"Fuck. Sherlock, this is getting--" John jerked uncomfortably, trying to pull his knee away and deal with his own growing problem.

Their combined efforts dislodged the leech behind John's knee, which brushed past Sherlock's lips and fell to the tile. He found himself leaning over, chasing it desperately with his teeth as a clatter announced that John's other foot had knocked over the glass. The first two leeches came spilling out onto white tile. Distracted, one hand on the tile in front of him and one hand still automatically trying to bring himself off, Sherlock glanced back to see that one of them was in the process of attaching itself to the sole of his bare foot. His head sagged forward and Sherlock spilled, half-sobbing, half-laughing, into his hand.


End file.
